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Late in the morning Zitkala-Sa’s friend Judewin gave her a terrible warning. Judewin knew a few words of English. She had overheard the pale-face woman talking about cutting their long heavy hair. Their mothers had taught them that only unskilled warriors who were captured had their hair shingled by the enemy. Among their people, short hair was worn by mourners, and shingled hair by cowards. They discussed their fate for some moments.
Judewin said, “We have to submit, because they are strong.” But Zitkala-Sa rebelled. She said that when no one was noticing, she disappeared. She moved slowly and quietly up the stairs as far as she could. Along the hall she passed, without knowing where she was going.
Turning aside to an open door, she found a large room with three white beds in it. The windows were covered with dark green curtains, which made the room very dim. As there was nobody else, she directed her steps towards the corner farthest from the door. She crawled on her hands and knees under the bed and laid comfortably in the dark comer. Zitkala-Sa had to hide herself so that her hair was not shingled.